


all the things i'd do

by arukana



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (sort of), Blackmail, Bottom Akechi Goro, Crossdressing, M/M, camboy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26132953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arukana/pseuds/arukana
Summary: Akira discovers something about his favourite camboy, Pillow_Prince. And then he can't keep his stupid mouth shut.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Other(s), Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 15
Kudos: 237
Collections: Bottom Goro Secret Summer Santa (exchange)





	all the things i'd do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ewidentnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewidentnie/gifts).



> this is my piece for the bottom goro secret summer santa :) i hope u like this starphy !!!

The stream loads in, quality quickly shifting to 1080p as he disconnects from Leblanc’s shitty wifi. The familiar masked figure is already sitting pretty, waiting for him to arrive.

“Good evening, gentleman,” comes the voice straight out of Akira’s phone speakers.

Morgana stirs at the foot of his bed. Oh, shit.

He scrambles to get a pair of headphones before Pillow_Prince can say anything else and wake Morgana up. Fortunately, he spends a few seconds waiting for his fans to load into the stream; eyes watching the chat fill with returned greetings as he runs his hands up his body.

Tonight, he’s wearing pale pink lingerie: nipples and cock trapped behind a thin layer of lace. The Prince absently runs a thumb up behind one of the bra straps, snapping it against the skin before he smirks directly at the camera.

Akira has to admit the outfit for tonight doesn’t really match with his signature red mask: a sturdy Venetian half-mask with black detailing, completely hiding his identity. Akira wouldn’t expect anything less. Personally, he thinks he would die if his friends found out about his hypothetical camboy career, plus the mystery is probably really good for retaining an audience.

“How are we tonight?” he asks, throwing his hair to the side as he tilts his head, letting the audience see the pale expanse of skin that is his neck. No matter how many times Akira sees the Prince’s skin, the urge to sink his teeth into it never fades. “I’m feeling good,” his hand slides down his neck, his stomach, past where the camera can see, “even better now you are all here to watch me.”

The Prince moans, and Akira just _knows_ he’s palming himself through the lace, “I would feel better if you were here. But you wouldn’t let me touch myself yet, would you?”

Akira finds himself murmuring back a negative before one-handedly shoving his boxers down his legs.

“What should I do then, sir? Most coins sent in the next minute gets to pick,” he says, tone shifting mid-sentence to something matter-of-fact, all business. The pride this man takes in his pornography career shouldn’t get Akira so hot.

A hand comes back up into frame, proof that the Prince is no longer touching himself; he even wiggles his fingers in a taunting motion.

Meanwhile, the chat goes wild with donations. Coins upon coins flood in with requests, ranging from the vanilla to the extremely kinky. The counter of that stream’s highest donation sits at the top of the chatbox, updating nearly every second as the coins keep coming in. The Prince wears a lazy smile as he watches the chat speed by, twirling a strand of hair around his finger, “Time’s almost up.”

The Prince clicks down the final seconds with tongue, before the winner is finally chosen, “Congratulations, B1GD4DDYD1CK.” A kiss is blown straight into the camera, “He wanted me to give you guys a little show before we _really_ got down to business, so here goes.”

Stepping back from the camera, his almost naked body appears, highlighted by the dim fairy-lights of his room. The backs of the Prince’s knees hit the bed and he sits back down on his, hands already gripping the sheets appealingly. Automatically, as he lowers his body, his knees cross over each other, drawing the audience’s attention to his chest.

Part of the Prince’s appeal for Akira is his flat chest. There are none of the rippling muscles that other pornstars have; the Prince is all curves and a fat, round ass. God, Akira’s had dreams about that ass.

He runs fingers up his stomach, all the way to his shoulders, pushing one of the straps off his arm completely. His skin is all so pale, almost completely hairless, and Akira can imagine how soft it would be under his fingers. His cock throbs in his grip at the thought; he’s so hard already and the Prince has barely _begun._

As if he can hear Akira’s thoughts, he speaks, “Are you already hard and dripping for me? God, I hope so. I wanna taste you so bad, so thick and heavy on my tongue. You know I love how you taste.”

Another main part of the Prince’s appeal: his dirty talk never fails to make Akira horny.

There’s just something about his voice. High, yet sultry and smooth. Familiar, but Akira’s heard too many whispers in Mementos for that to mean much anymore; it just feels more personal that way.

The Prince’s fingers fall down, to caress the strip of fabric holding his panties against his hips. He pulls, just enough to give a hint of his cock, before letting it snap loud against his skin, accompanied by a beautiful groan. The bastard winks.

Turning around, the Prince bends forward, fingers pushing the string of his thong out of the way to reveal a bejeweled-pink buttplug already snug inside his ass. He twists his head to look back at the camera, “How big should I go? I could probably take my biggest toy tonight.”

Akira has to slow down his strokes at the mental image of the Prince fucking himself with his largest dildo.

“Of course,” the Prince says, using his fingers to shallowly thrust the plug in and out of his ass, “nothing would compare to your big, fat cock, sir.”

Akira’s grip on his cock becomes a fucking vice.

“So what will it be?” he asks, ass still facing the camera. “I could go big, realistic, or, _oh,_ I could use my new toy I got in the mail today.”

And, obviously, once the chat is made aware of a new toy, there’s no competition.

The Prince chuckles, “You’re all so predictable.” He twists, picking up a bottle of lube and the toy in question from his desk. He lubes it up with practised ease, eyes scanning the chat as he speaks, “Any other requests for tonight?”

Once again, the chat bursts into a flurry of text, bringing a smirk to the Prince’s face. “Sadist19XX, I actually have some sounding rods coming in the mail thanks to a very generous viewer, so you can expect that stream sometime soon,” he says. “PerpetualH0rnyMachine, I don’t know what your obsession is with gore, but if you mention anything like that one more time I will have to ban you.” Akira must have missed what that person said, but he honestly doesn’t think he wants to find out what it was.

“I don’t know, Domsama, I think if I use my wand on my cock I might cum too soon.”

The new highest donation sound plays in Akira’s ears, followed by a message in the chat.

 **Domsama:** You can cum when I say you can cum.

The Prince’s eyes go wide for a fraction of a second, before he reverts back to his persona, giggling and grinning, “I do so love it when a man knows how to take control. The rest of you could learn a thing or two.” The Prince winks into the camera. “What should I call you, Domsama?”

 **Domsama:** Call me Akira.

A shocked, spluttering cough comes through Akira’s headphones, “Ah- Akira, huh?

Oh God.

 **Domsama:** Or you can call me Mistress.

“Oh,” the surprise won’t seem to leave his eyes so easily this time, “a Mistress. My mistake for assuming, I apologise.”

His surprise is mirrored on Akira’s own face. He’s always assumed it was just men who liked the Prince’s streams; the Prince himself is pretty openly gay at this point.

But, he supposes, women need subs too.

Finding his footing once again, the Prince retrieves the vibrating wand from the box of toys he always keeps on hand, not caring about the lube that still covers his hand. “As promised, Mistress,” he says, showing the toy to the camera, “but first.”

Akira watches him struggle a little with the plug as he tries to slide it out with slick hands, but the Prince manages, showing his gaping hole to the camera. He presses his lubed-up fingers inside, spreading the excess to ensure a smooth glide, head turned back to face the camera, “Ah, so how would Mistress fuck me?”

 **Domsama:** I would make you beg for my cock.

The Prince hums gratefully, “Mm, Mistress, please. I need you so badly.”

 **Domsama:** I know you can beg better than that, whore.

That seems to spurn the Prince on, putting a grin on his face and a moan on his lips. “ _Please,_ ” he whines, teasing his hole with the head of his new red dildo, “I’ll do anything for your cock, Mistress. I need you to fill me up and make me cum like the bitch I am.”

Akira feels a little like he’s intruding on something; like he’s a voyeur. He can’t deny it makes his spine tingle.

 **Domsama:** Much better, slut.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

 **Domsama:** Wow. A bitch with manners. Somebody taught you well.

 **Domsama:** Shove your toy in. All the way. I want to hear you whimper.

The Prince obeys immediately, shoving himself down all the way to the toy’s base in one go. His face crumples as the toy punches at his sweet spot, perfectly following his Mistress’ orders as he whimpers into the camera. Akira can’t help but speed up the pace of his hand at the sounds.

 **Domsama:** Tell your audience how good it feels.

“Ah! S- so good! It’s stretching me so well, oh God. It’s so big inside me.” The Prince rocks himself backwards and forwards on the plastic cock, not daring to fuck himself just yet.

 **Domsama:** Such a good boy.

 **Domsama:** Pound yourself with it.

This seems to be where the Prince has an edge; Akira sees his smirk return for a brief moment, before his finger slips against something at the base of his toy.

The toy starts thrusting as the Prince holds it steady, turned up to full force immediately.

“Ah!” he near-screams, “Too much, too much, too much!”

Akira is stupidly close already. Shit, the Prince gets him going so much.

 **Domsama:** You can take more. Use the wand. Keep it pressed against the head until I give you permission to cum. And thank me.

“Th- thank you, Mistress,” he groans, tears welling up in his eyes as he turns on the vibrator too, and presses it to his cock over the panties, “thank you for allowing me- ah, _oh-_ to have such pleasure.”

The Prince looks like he’s on the edge of losing it already; face and neck flushed, tears flowing down his face, hips bucking wildly. Akira could cum too just watching the display of overstimulation, but he holds it back; he wants to see the Prince completely fall apart before he does.

“It- it’s- _fuck,_ it’s too much. It’s so _much._ ”

 **Domsama:** Hold it, bitch.

The Prince just cries out. “Please! I need it! I’m gonna cum already!”

 **Domsama:** I haven’t given you permission, Prince.

“Ah- ah- I’m _begging._ Please let me cum, Mistress! I’m so fucking-,” he cuts himself off with a reedy whine.

 **Domsama:** Try a little harder for me.

“Mistress, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, I need- _please._ Let me cum, Mistress.”

There’s a silence in the chat, everyone too busy with their hands on their dicks to type, too entranced by the show. All there is is the buzzing of the Prince’s toys as he waits for his permission, moaning and crying all the while.

 **Domsama:** Cum then, if you need it so badly. Cum all over yourself like the pathetic whore you are.

It doesn’t take the Prince long after he reads that.

He throws his head back in pure ecstasy, riding the sensations in his body out for all they’re worth, hips stuttering and starting on the dildo as he paints his own chin white with the force of it.

And, holy fuck, Akira’s so close he can feel the rope tearing thread by thread in his gut, pushed over the edge only by the image of the Prince licking his own cum off his fingers.

It’s the best orgasm Akira’s had for a while.

It’s so good it has him relaxed for minutes, his breath evening out alongside the Prince’s; head nothing but a pleasured, cloudy haze.

After his mind clears, all the horny brain rot gone and replaced with the faintest feeling of a post-orgasm tingling in his legs, he keeps watching. The Prince won’t be done after just one, he never is. Sometimes he goes all night, cumming until he can’t anymore, until all that leaves him is an overstimulated nothingness. Akira almost always watches until the end.

Sometimes the Prince goes long enough for Akira to get hard again, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of Akira like the ones he draws out of himself. Though, Akira would admit that he could never go as long as him.

When he’s not getting off to the stream, he’s usually just worshipping the Prince’s body with his eyes (or fingers, whenever he gets courageous enough to type in chat); committing the exact angles of the curve of his ass to memory, studying the way his tied-back hair sits against his neck, staring at the cut down his arm-

Oh. Wow. That looks like it really hurt actually.

Akira had noticed it earlier but had been too preoccupied with jerking off to really focus on it. It looks deep, but the reddened skin seems to be strangely pulling it together like he’s only ever seen happen after using a Recov-R after a shadow attack-

No. That can’t be right. It must just be the lighting, or it might be an older wound. Though Akira was sure it wasn’t there two nights ago during his last stream.

Maybe Akira’s losing it a little. Who could blame him, really? He’s stressed.

But… it really does look concerning. And now Akira’s really _looking_ at him, he’s seeking a bunch of bruises, all yellowing like they’re days old; he doesn’t remember seeing those before either.

Well. The Prince is always covered in bruises, really. That tends to come with hand-in-hand with the sort of things he’s into. It’s no secret that the Prince is a masochist. The placement of them has always struck Akira as strange, all over his body with no real rhyme or reason, but he’s never really been one to judge someone on their kinks.

Now, though, it’s all becoming a little odd.

Akira might just be paranoid. But what if the Prince is the Black Mask? How the fuck would he break that one to his teammates? _Guys, I think I know who the Black Mask is and I found him on a camboy website!_ Akira’s probably just paranoid.

Hopefully, Akira’s just paranoid.

Except now, Akira’s mind has already started fitting some of the puzzle pieces together. Akira hasn’t had to miss a stream all month since they started infiltrating Sae’s Palace. His voice has always seemed so familiar. He’d reacted so strangely before when that woman had given her name as Akira.

And Akechi got that exact same wound earlier today. Akira knows that because he’s the one who had to help patch him up.

Fuck.

Akira wants to throw his phone across the room, slam it face-down somewhere and go to sleep, forgetting all of this by tomorrow. But his body, his stupid fucking body, won’t listen; his eyes fixated on every aspect of the Prince’s body- this time in a new light.

He has Akechi’s hair, Akechi’s eyes, Akechi’s ass.

For fuck’s sake. _Pillow_Prince?_ Akechi’s fucking _ego_ should’ve given it away months ago.

Fuck. Shit. Well. This is an amazingly fucked up thing to realise while Akechi himself is still on Akira’s phone screen, moaning and dirty talking for all he’s worth, riding a glittery red dildo as he goes.

Akira can simply never look at Akechi again. That’s it. That’s the only way this problem gets solved.

Of course, that’s easier said than done. Because now Akira is watching his throat bob as he speaks on TV, his long legs when he’s fighting shadows in the Palace, his long, delicate fingers as he flicks through a book in Leblanc.

He’s hearing his moans reverberating inside his head, desperate pleas of _“cum with me, cum with me, oh, please cum with me”_ bouncing around in his skull, when he _should_ be listening to Akechi speaking about his day, or trying to set a day for Palace infiltration.

And then, after Akira has begged his pardon and forced Akechi to repeat, his brain starts up once more; screaming moans of pleasure and _“I’m your whore, I’m your fucking whore, daddy”_ fill his mind instead.

Akira knows better than to ask a third time, so he usually just nods like he understands. Which mostly just makes Akechi even more annoyed than if he _had_ asked a third time. It’s safe to say, Akechi’s noticed his lack of concentration; he’d even started using it against him in their games of billiards and darts. A dirty move, but Akira won’t call him out for it.

On this particular night, it’s just them in Leblanc. Sojiro’s long gone, some lame excuse about trusting Akira and needing to tend to Futaba on his lips. It was obvious he just couldn’t stand to be marinating in their tension much longer. The customers had seemingly agreed.

Akira can’t stop thinking about Akechi’s ass. He’s always known it was nice, lord knows he’s stared at it enough during their outings, but there’s something about knowing what it looks like under those horrifically professional trousers.

Round and pert and tight and, fuck, Akira wants his mouth on it.

“Are you distracted, Kurusu?” Akira is knocked back to reality by Akechi’s voice (the _Prince’s_ voice) speaking directly to him.

“Me? Distracted? Never.”

“Mm,” Akechi hums, his eyes returning to his book as he flips a page. “Then why are you pouring coffee all over the floor?”

Jolting again, Akira realises that his aim with the pot had been way off, missing Akechi’s empty mug in his other hand by a good seven inches. “Good question,” he nods as he refills the mug properly this time, and places it by Akechi.

Neither of them speak for a while after that, mainly because Akira has to mop up the mess he’s just made, but Akira likes that just fine. He will be okay so long as he doesn’t have to hear that fucking voice. Akira can just close his eyes, he doesn’t have to _look_ at Akechi, but he can’t just decide to _not hear_ Akechi.

But of course, Akechi will not shut up.

“You know, I’m always here for a chat if there’s something on your mind.”

Internally groaning, Akira squeezes the mop into the bucket with a little more force than intended. “I don’t think you could help.”

Which is, of course, the completely wrong thing to say.

Akechi’s fingers tense so hard around the handle of his cup that it makes a loud, leathery creak, “I’m sure I could be of at least _some_ assistance.”

“Heh,” Akira squeaks, digging the hole even deeper, “it’s really okay.”

And, there’s the sound of Akechi closing his book and placing it upon the counter. Akira winces. “At least tell me what’s on your mind, Kurusu. You know I’ll help in any way I am able.”

“I just,” Akira uses one of his hands to wave the air, as if he’s searching for words, “ _reallydon’tthinkyoucouldhelp._ ”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I just don’t think you have the capabilities.”

God, Akira wants to punch himself in the face.

Akechi’s fingers start tapping the varnished wood. Akira gulps. “Try me. Seriously.”

“Uh. I’m just worrying about… whether we’ll be able to finish the Palace in time.”

A laugh that sounds like jingle bells sounds off from behind Akechi’s hand, “Surely you think better of me than to tell such a bold-faced lie?”

“It’s not a lie.”

Akechi tuts, “Come now, Kurusu-kun.”

There’s a long minute of silence where Akira almost starts to believe that if he keeps ignoring Akechi, he’ll drop the subject. Akechi’s eyes are still fixated on him when he looks back up, floor once again clean, so he just gulps.

May as well bite the bullet.

“Are you Pillow_Prince?”

“Am I- _what?_ ”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Akira rushes to speak, “he’s just, uh, he looks like you and he really sounds like you and he has matching Metaverse wounds but it’s just- _insane_ since you you never be a camboy, you have a whole reputation and there’s so much at stake for you and-,”

“ _Stop fucking babbling,_ ” Akechi near yells.

Akira just looks at him, wide-eyed. “S- sorry.”

“Now. If we can talk about this like _adults._ ”

“Talk about what?”

Akechi snaps his fingers, “Don’t be dense, Kurusu. What you want in exchange for keeping my secret.”

“I- I- I,” Akira stutters. _What?_ “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Wait,” Akira’s mind feels like it’s going at a snail’s pace, far too overwhelmed with all the information he’s being given. “You’re admitting it?”

“Well, it’s like you said,” Akechi sighs, like he’s _bored,_ “he has my face, my voice, my wounds.”

And _that_ is, for some reason, a whole different can of worms that Akira doesn’t even want to go near. Akechi admitting that he’s a camboy to his face is- well, it can’t be real, can it? Because then Akira will have been getting off to Akechi Goro almost every night, and Akira will have seen the Detective Prince naked, and Akira will have watched his teammate, Crow, cum countless times, and oh _God,_ there’s fucking worms everywhere.

“So I don’t see any point in trying to deny it. Nor will I bother asking how you found out, since that seems obvious,” he says dryly, subtly changing his posture, becoming less Akechi Goro and more _Pillow_Prince._

Akira swallows, trying his hardest to reroute the blood currently threatening to flow into his dick.

He clears his throat, turning on the taps to start washing up, “But you don’t owe me anything. I wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

“I’m simply not interested in you having something to lord over my head,” Akechi says simply, as if _blackmail_ was the first thing that should’ve come to Akira’s mind. As if he’s almost disappointed that it wasn’t.

Instead, Akira just pulls a face at him, “But I wouldn’t do something like that. It’s kinda fucked up, don’t you think?”

“ _‘Fucked up’_ ?” he quotes, something like a laugh in his voice. “Isn’t it _fucked up_ that I’m blackmailing you into infiltrating Sae’s Palace?”

“We didn’t ask you to blackmail us.”

Akechi gives a slight shrug, and sips at his coffee like he’s thinking. “The blackmail is preferable to the alternative. You _would_ ask me to blackmail you, were you in my position.”

The water turns scalding as Akira thinks about that, making him flinch away. He doesn’t think that’s quite right. But then again, he isn’t the Detective Prince who does porn on the side; maybe he’s not meant to understand.

Maybe Akechi just has a strange way of thinking about human interaction.

One thing is for certain: Akechi is getting tired of his silence. “So? What will it be?”

“I don’t-,” he stutters, turning the tap off and drying his hands, “I don’t know what you’re offering.”

Akechi tsks, rolling his eyes, “Anything. Money, connections, a _favour,_ perhaps?”

“A favour?” because surely Akechi isn’t implying what Akira thinks he’s implying.

“If I were you I wouldn’t waste this on a simple blowjob or anything similarly vanilla.”

Akira has to take a moment to just blink at him as he comes to stand behind the counter opposite him. “Are you giving me advice on how to blackmail you?”

“I would’ve said kinkshaming-,”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“But,” he smirks, “if you’re a patron of my streams I doubt you’ll request something so boring.”

Akira gulps.

“So, what’ll it be?”

Akira’s so fucking nervous. And he doesn’t know why.

It’s not like he’s a virgin, far from it actually. He probably would’ve put up a little more (a _lot_ more) of a fight against this if he was. And obviously, it wasn’t his first time seeing Akechi in a sexual manner. God knows, he’s done it nearly every other day for the past few months.

And now that he’s letting himself… _feel things_ about Akechi, he can admit that this is something he’s always wanted, really.

From that day at the TV station, where he’d incriminated himself seconds after their meeting, Akira had felt a certain _pull_ towards the detective.

Ha. _A certain pull._ There’s no point making it sound so poetic. He’s been trying to get his dick wet since day one.

Who would blame him, really? Of course he’s gonna develop a feeling or two with all of the texts Akechi sends: _I’m alone right now,_ and _I’d like to show you…_ Akira always half-expected those to be followed up by nudes, was always a least a little disappointed when they weren’t.

And maybe, just _maybe,_ there had been a few… purer feelings mixed in alongside all those. Even after Futaba revealed his less-than savoury plans. The ones where-

His train of thought stops mid-sentence as his brain registers the sound of high heels clicking up the stairs.

“Good evening, Kurusu,” Akechi says, mimicking his own intro perfectly as he rounds to the top of the stairs. He gives Akira a moment to take in his outfit, which, holy fuck, is completely necessary.

He’s wearing a skintight, black crop-top, emblazoned with the word _‘WHORE’;_ the strap hanging off his shoulder to reveal a bright-red bra strap that Akira is sure belongs to his personal favourite set of the Prince’s lingerie. Akira won’t look a gift horse in the mouth and ask _how,_ exactly, Akechi knows his lingerie preferences. On his hips sits the shortest skirt Akira’s ever seen, bright-red to match the lacy set underneath. He almost passes out when Akechi gives a twirl and the skirt flies up to reveal just a hint of his perfect ass.

Akira might be the luckiest man alive.

Akechi’s legs are covered by sheer tights, held up by an intricate garter system that ends just above where his skirt begins. Red-bottomed, six inch heels keep him upright, the kind that would make Akira want a woman to step on him with.

With Akechi, though, Akira thinks he’d rather be the one doing the stepping.

There might even be a hint of makeup on his cheeks, lips and eyes. All in pretty reds to match the lingerie, the choker wrapped around his throat, and the two ties that split his hair into pigtails.

“You,” Akira starts, near breathless, “look so good.”

 _Click, click,_ Akechi starts to walk across the attic floor, making sure to swing his legs in a straight line directly to Akira, “You really think so?”

“Yeah.” Akira’s throat has never been so fucking dry.

Giggling like he’s only ever seen Akechi do as the Prince, he hikes his legs over Akira’s, straddling him on his bed. “I’m glad. I did all this for you,” he whispers, leaning in close to Akira’s ears.

“Th- thank you.”

“Kurusu,” Akechi tuts, “you’re not _nervous,_ are you?”

“Me? N- no.”

“Good,” he murmurs as he licks up the shell of Akira’s ear, “because I want you to make me beg for it.”

“Yeah?” God. Akechi is giving him _everything_ and Akira is so off his game it hurts.

Akechi’s hand sneaks down the front of Akira’s shirt, stopping at his belt to fiddle with the buckle, “How big are you, Kurusu? I’ve always wondered.”

“You have?”

“Of course. Who wouldn’t wonder what you’re hiding under that apron? Especially after seeing you as _Joker._ ”

“Hah,” Akira half-groans as Akechi’s fingertips skim the outline of his cock, already half-hard just from the sight.

“So? Are you going to be able to fuck my brains out? Or are you just all talk like the rest of the men in my chat?”

Akira almost laughs at that. Seems Akechi knows just the right things to say.

“Why don’t you get on your knees and find out?” he says, barely stuttering as his confidence begins to flow back through his veins. This is just Akechi. The same Akechi who doesn’t hold back at billiards or Gun About, the same Akechi who takes him on cafe dates and aquarium dates, the same Akechi he has an effortless rapport with.

Akechi smirks and rewards Akira’s confidence with a light squeeze to is cock over the fabric before sliding down, pushing Akira’s knees open as he settles between them. He just takes a moment, eyes up at Akira’s face, like he’s asking permission.

Akira’s fingers come up to brush Akechi’s jaw on instinct, “What are you waiting for?”

Akechi just lets his eyes flicker down, hands sliding up Akira’s thighs to pop the button of his jeans. He pulls his pants down almost reverently, and does the same for his boxers. Akira feels like he should be nervous again, but somehow he doesn’t fear Akechi’s sneers anymore. He’s the one in control of this situation. He’s the one whose opinion matters.

So when Akira’s cock springs free and bounces against Goro’s cheeks, he asks, “So. Am I all talk?”

There’s no reply. Akechi gives him a look like he really wants to scowl, but won’t let himself, and then his mouth descends on his cock.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Akira groans immediately, hand flying to tangle in Akechi’s hair, “warn a guy, will you?”

Akechi can’t smirk, given his mouth’s preoccupation, but his eyes flicker up and give Akira the impression that he would if he could.

His mouth is like fucking heaven. All warmth and wet and, shit, where is his gag reflex? Akira tests the waters, thrusting once onto Akechi’s mouth; he chokes, but only a little, only out of surprise.

“You’ve done this before.” It’s not like it’s much of a surprise. Akira’s seen him deepthroat dildos on his stream many times. But the _feeling_ is something completely different. 

Akechi nods as he pulls back, just leaving the head in his mouth as he swirls his tongue around the sensitive skin. Trying and failing not to buck into Akechi’s throat, Akira distracts himself, “Just on toys or-?”

A slick, obscene pop comes from below, with Akechi ensuring he remains attached to Akira’s cock with a mix of salvia and pre. “Awfully nosy, aren’t you?”

In lieu of his mouth, Akechi starts working Akira over with his hands. Akira can’t lie, they’re just as talented as his mouth. “Can’t help it. You’re so good at that.”

“I’ll take the compliment,” he smirks as he wraps his lips around Akira’s cock once more. He gives a few shallow thrusts, before hollowing his cheeks and taking him to the base.

“Oh, fuck,” Akira feels his cockhead sink down into Akechi’s throat, feels himself pulse and nearly make Akechi choke, “ _Akechi._ ”

Hearing his name seems to do something for the man below him, vibrations of a muffled moan travelling all the way up his cock, making his balls tense exquisitely. When Akira looks down, Akechi’s looking up at him through wet lashes, mascara clumping and rolling down his once-perfect cheeks, with one hand pressing against his own cock through his skirt.

Somehow, through the foggy haze of a warm, plush throat, Akira remembers he’s supposed to be domming. His foot comes up to kick Akechi’s hand away from him, earning him a whine from Akechi, “Did I give you permission to do that?” he asks, voice steady.

Watching the familiar trance of submission descend upon Akechi’s gaze gives Akira the headiest feeling he’s ever felt.

Giving a shaky exhale, Akira’s hands instinctively grab at the tiny pigtails in Akechi’s hair to push him deeper into submission, effectively using them as handles to fuck his face aggressively.

Akechi sucks all the harder as Akira’s reward. Akira’s never felt anything like it; his eyes roll back as he just allows himself to use Akechi to get off.

“God, ‘Kechi, can you swallow?”

He doesn’t really know why he asks, the most he gets in response from Akechi is a pleasured moan, which could mean yes or no. Akira ends up deciding for him as he gets close, fucking Akechi’s face with abandon with no intention of pulling away.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum down your throat,” he warns, “fuck, fuckfuckfuck!”

Time loses all meaning for a few moments. He feels himself pulse down Akechi’s throat, vaguely hears the groans of complaint Akechi gives, but otherwise he’s on a different cloud of existence as he cums.

It takes him a while to come back down.

When he finally does, he entangles his fingers in Akechi’s hair, forcing Akechi’s head back for inspection. It seems that Akechi had pulled off mid-orgasm, because there’s cum all over his face. The sight of it mixed with mascara tears and ruined lipstick makes his spent cock twitch. “You look so pretty like this.”

Akechi doesn’t say anything in response, just keeps his eyes locked on Akira as he licks cum off his lips.

“I thought it would be harder to make you submit,” he grins, “but all it takes is a stern voice and some hair pulling.”

That seems to jolt Akechi out of it a little, putting a scowl on his lips. “Wuh- would you prefer if I was a brat?” he says, but there’s none of the usual acid in it, just a genuine breathiness he hasn’t even heard Akechi do as the Prince.

Akira shrugs, “It doesn’t matter to me, I’ll fuck you until you’re a drooling mess either way. Get up.”

Yelping at the pain as Akira shoves him back with force, Akechi scrambles to his feet, head automatically bowed in a way that makes Akira’s cock _ache._ All of the bravado he walked into the room with is gone, replaced with a dumb look and _fuck me_ eyes.

“Take off your panties for me.”

Akechi doesn’t hesitate, pulling the thin, red thong down and flicking them off of his ankle in seconds.

Akira hums appreciatively, “Good boy.” He watches as a chill runs down Akechi’s spine, because of course. _Of course_ it does.

“Come here,” Akira commands, reaching out and tugging on Akechi’s hand. He stumbles, but ends up between Akira’s legs once more, this time standing, looking down while Akira runs his hands up his legs.

Akechi waxes. That seems like it was obvious, given how much effort he puts into other parts of his grooming rituals, but feeling the smooth flesh beneath his hands is something Akira couldn’t prepare himself for. His hands disappear under Akechi’s skirt, reaching around to his ass, squeezing and manhandling the skin, feeling it up until Akechi’s squirming in his grip.

Chuckling at the way Akechi whines, Akira speaks, “Use your words, Akechi.”

Akechi’s clearly trying to hold onto the last shred of his pride, biting his lip to keep himself from talking, shivering under Akira’s fingertips. “N’aww,” Akira cooes, “it’s okay, sweetheart. Tell me what you need.”

He feels the whine Akechi gives across his whole body, goosebumps flaring as he does. “I want…”

“Go ahead.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Akira’s right hand skims upwards, past his hips, past his chest to rest on Akechi’s chin, “Now I know from all those naughty streams you did that you have manners.”

“Please.”

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

The dam breaks.

“ _Please,_ Joker, please. I need your cock inside me right now.”

Joker, huh? Akira won’t lie, it’s near nirvanic hearing that name from Akechi like this.

It’s such a desperate sentence, aching and full of pure _want,_ that Akira can’t help himself. He sits back and pulls Akechi down on the bed, quick enough to make him dizzy, forcing himself between his legs before Akechi can even think to close them.

“Already all plugged up for me, huh?” Akira asks, pushing at the metallic plug and seeking out Akechi’s prostate. With a free hand, Akira leans over to rummage through his drawer and pull out a sticky bottle of lube.

All Akechi does is whine in response, writhing in the sheets as his head flies back into the pillow. His legs instinctively try to close, but Akira holds them back open.

“Stay still for me, princess. You wouldn’t want me to have to tie your legs up by your head, would you?”

“I- I-,” Akechi stutters, head nodding frantically, “I would. Joker, I would.”

The way he says it, so genuinely needy, makes Akira wish he had the equipment to follow through on the threat. Instead, he pushes them back by the thighs, making use of Goro's flexibility, “Hold them for me.”

Akechi complies eagerly, heels dangerously angled upward. The angle stretches out Akechi’s backside, making finding his prostate a little easier; Akira finds it with the plug seconds later.

“Oh, fuck, Joker. _There,_ ” he whines, wiggling downwards, trying to get the plug’s pointed end to brush against the perfect spot once again.

In response, Akira pulls until the bulb is almost popped out completely, “You really are a whore.” Chuckling, he shoves it back inside, “I figured you were mostly acting in those streams, but maybe this is just your true nature.”

“Yes, yes, _Joker._ ”

“Yeah?” Akira smirks, “So you admit it? You act so poised and perfect on TV, but all you really want is for someone to put you in your place.”

“God, let me, ah,” he moans, back arching as he tries to hold his ankles one-handedly, other hand trying to come down and stroke his cock. Akira gets there first.

He bats his hand away, “No touching. I know you can come like this if you want to.”

Akechi pushes his body back into the mattress, cock purpling with desire to be touched, whispering into the cold attic air, “Oh God, please, oh, oh.”

Taking mercy on him, Akira pulls the plug all the way out, tossing it aside as he lubes up his fingers and replaces them as quickly as he can.

“Wow,” he breathes, “I didn’t think you’d be so tight.” It’s true. Akechi’s hole, even after the plug that he’s had in for who knows how long, is squeezing him so hard; he feels like Akechi’s trying to push him out, something he knows can’t be true from the way he writhes and begs.

“ _Joker,_ ” he moans, angling his hips just right. He knows his own body so well, knows exactly where to get Akira to put his fingers so that they brush up against the _perfect_ spot. Something about the experience makes Akira’s dick twitch in his pants.

It’s easy to get Akechi right on the edge when he’s so willingly giving himself over like that. He’s a professional at cumming just from his ass now, after all.

But still, Akechi whines and bucks and groans, “I can’t, I _can’t._ Oh, fuck, I need more.”

Akira tuts, “I’ve seen you cum like this before. I know you can do it for me.”

“I _need-_ Ah!” Akechi cuts himself off with a moan as Akira takes back control of the situation. He’s gotten more confident with Akechi’s body now, learning the layout like they were made for each other. He pistons his fingers in and out, hammering at Akechi’s prostate like he’s seen him do on stream.

“Come on, Akechi. Come on, my _Prince,_ ” he says, crawling forward to whisper in Akechi’s ear, “cum for me.”

“Joker,” and just from his voice Akira can hear his gritted teeth, “I can’t.”

“You can,” he whispers, starting to leave a trail of bites and hickeys down his neck, “just let go for me.”

“ _Joker._ ”

“Let go. Cum,” he demands, keeping his voice soft in Akechi’s ears, “give it to me.”

Somehow, that does it for Akechi, because the next thing he knows he’s hearing Akechi’s cry and feeling his body shake and seeing him spill into his skirt. Graciously, Akira puts a hand to his cock to ride him through it, milking all the cum out of his cock, whispering small praises. “Good boy, so good for me. You’re doing so well, make me so happy.”

Once he’s mostly stilled, nothing but aftershocks of pleasure running through Akechi’s body, Akira rights himself once more between Akechi’s legs. Neither of his hands are clean but he doesn’t care anymore, ruining his pants as he pulls out his cock, using whatever’s left on his fingers to slick himself up.

“You still want my cock?” he asks,regrettably pulling Akechi’s heels off so he doesn’t injure either of them.

Akechi seems beyond words at this point, slowly nodding his head with half-lidded eyes.

Shame Akira has to wake him up. He takes his cock in hand and guides it to Akechi’s hole.

Akira’s so pent up at this point he doesn’t know how he manages to hold back from pounding Akechi open immediately, but he somehow does; sinking in slowly and savouring the way Akechi cries underneath him as he bottoms out. “Let me, let me,” Akechi gasps breathlessly, but Akira just shushes him in understanding. He’ll give him time to adjust.

He has plenty to look at in the meantime. An entire buffet, in fact.

The body that he’s seen so many times on camera. Nothing compares to having it like this, eager and wanting and ready for him. Akira runs his hands up the slither of skin the crop top leaves, dipping underneath the fabric and hiking it up until the lacy red bra he’s wearing is revealed. Akechi seems to understand, lifting his back to pull his shirt off fully and then letting his weight fall back onto his elbows. The hands on his chest continue their journey up to cup his chest.

“Fuck,” he curses, feeling up what little he has, finding his nipples under the lace and squeezing. Akechi’s eyebrows just knit together, chest heaving as he breathes heavily.

“Joker,” Akechi’s hands come up to feel Akira too, “ _‘Kira._ I’m ready.”

Akira doesn’t need to be told twice.

The pace he sets is intense, pounding in and out and in and out of Goro’s hole like he can’t get enough- and he can’t. He needs to take everything he can get, experience as much of Akechi as he can, because, _God,_ it’s so good and he’s never gonna have this again.

That’s the only thought that plagues his mind as he thrusts in all the way, wanting to bury his scent as deep in Akechi as he can. Akechi, the Prince, belongs to his paying customers. Akira can’t own him like he wants to, can’t mark his territory like a predator; all he can do is fill Akechi’s body with marks and fill his ass with cum and hope that they don’t fade, hope Akechi is never fully satisfied by anyone else again.

And maybe Akira wants his own memento.

So, Akira pulls out his phone and starts taking pictures. They’re lazy shots at first with Akira too focused on feeling pleasure; shots of Akechi’s face with his eyes rolled back, his hair fanned out on the pillows, his nipples hard and needy. All of them are blurred and barely recognisable.

Akira wants better ones. He wants pictures he can jack off to for years to come.

Akira’s thrusts turn shallow, becoming more focused on getting those perfect shots. “Shame you already let the whole world see this body. I could’ve made a fortune off these.”

He hoists him up by the waist just a little, enough to get a perfect shot of his cock going inside Akechi’s perfect hole; all slick and loose just for him. “I still could,” he reasons, “so what if people recognise you as Pillow_Prince? Isn’t that what you really want?”

“Ah,” Akechi groans, mind far past the ability to produce coherent speech by now. Akira carries on anyway.

“Even if they don’t, it’s still enough to ruin your reputation,” Akira growls, zooming in close for a shot of Akechi’s cum-stained face, “Japan’s sweetheart Detective Prince… exposed as a cock-loving slut.”

But all Akechi hears is the last part, “I am! I love your cock! Joker, I need more!”

Akira switches the camera to record a video, “Say it again.”

Akechi whines, “I need more! I’m just a whore, a cock hungry whore! Please! I wanna cum on your cock!”

“Heh,” Akira grunts, phone half-forgotten as he grabs onto Akechi to resume pounding into him, “you’re such a good boy, Akechi.”

The body under him goes taut, spine bent at a near impossible angle, “Tell me again! G- god, please!”

“You’re my good little boy, _Goro,_ ” Akira says.

Goro cums all over his body for the camera.

It doesn’t take long for Akira to follow suit. How can he last after that? Everything is just so good and hot and doused in pleasure. Akira fulfils one of his wet dreams and pumps Akechi full of his hot cum.

When he comes back from his climax, toes still tingling with short bursts of pleasure, Akechi’s writhing under him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He has to take a few deep breaths to steady himself before pulling his oversensitive cock out of Akechi, taking it slow. His body tells him that he’s too exhausted for proper aftercare, but the few normal thoughts tell him that Akechi isn’t in any state to help himself, so he sneaks down to Leblanc’s bathroom to retrieve a warm, wet towel.

Akechi’s almost asleep when he gets back, which is a really good thing for Akira, since he doesn’t think Akechi would let him do this if he were fully cognizant. Rubbing him down, face, body and ass, Akira does his best to remove his ruined skirt, the bra and stockings. He ends up just settling for the skirt when Akechi starts protesting him touching his feet. As for himself, he finds a nightshirt from his box of clothing and changes for bed.

There’s not really enough room on Akira’s bed for them both, so when he climbs back into bed he flops to the side of him, keeping his body small so that he doesn’t fall off.

“Heh,” he breathes, bringing up his camera for one last picture. “These are good.”

“What are?” he asks, like he’s waking up from an amnesiac episode.

Akira hums, snuggling in closer, “The pictures I took of you.”

“Delete them,” Akechi mumbles, attempting to escape Akira’s snuggles by pushing his exhausted body as close to the window as possible. “That’s part of our agreement.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Kurusu. Delete them.”

“Oh, I’m Kurusu now, huh?” he chuckles, scrolling through his camera roll.

Akechi scowls, “Delete them.”

“The agreement was that you dress up and let me fuck you stupid and I wouldn’t tell anyone about your side job.”

“Delete them.” Akechi makes a scramble for the phone, but Akira’s too fast for him, pulling out of reach at the last second.

“I don’t think I will,” Akira snorts, “maybe I _will_ sell them to some tabloid.”

The pair of eyes lying across from him narrow, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Akira just plants a kiss on his nose, “Of course I wouldn’t. You worry too much.”

“All it takes is some low-grade hacker to get into your phone-,” Akechi starts. Akira cuts him off.

“Relax. I’ll put them in an encrypted, password-protected folder if that’ll make you feel better.”

Akechi’s eyes roll, but his body does unclench at the promise, legs coming to knot together with Akira’s under the covers. “At least tell me the password. For when you get yourself killed on some stupid Metaverse stunt,” he grumbles.

Akira considers. “Pillow_Prince?”

He feels a stockinged foot kick him under the blankets, “You aren’t funny.”

“You’re mean after sex,” Akira grins.

Akechi hums lazily, and for a moment Akira thinks he’s going to drift off and stay the night, but then he says, “I should be going.”

“Maybe,” is all Akira has to say to that.

“This was just,” he yawns, “a business arrangement. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”

And Akira doesn’t know what to say to that. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Perhaps a little.”

“You should stay. I wouldn’t want you to fall asleep on the train. And I can make you breakfast tomorrow.”

He gives another yawn, “I wouldn’t want to give Sojiro the wrong impression either. I admire this cafe too much.”

“I’ll set an alarm,” Akira says, but he doesn’t make any moves to. Instead, his fingers find their way into Akechi’s hair, trying to brush out some of the leftover cum.

“And I need a proper shower before bed.”

“Shush. No more excuses,” Akira whispers, grabbing a tissue to wipe Akechi down from beside his bed. “Sleep. I’ll take care of you.”

Something about what he says makes Akechi’s nose turn up, but he follows the order anyway.

Akechi is so beautiful when he’s sleeping.


End file.
